


Choose You

by TwoBoys2Love



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Dean, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, First Time, Hurt Dean, Hurt Dean Smith, M/M, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Top Sam Winchester, Violence, hidden love, physical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 02:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoBoys2Love/pseuds/TwoBoys2Love
Summary: Sam Winchester lives a charmed life for the most part. His mother is urging him to find a woman to marry, but he doesn't want to. After a heated discussion with his parents, Sam rides into the forest without realizing a storm is brewing. Trapped by the weather, he runs into one of the outcasts from the city, Dean. Sam's never agreed with people being cast out, but he has even more reason to dislike it once he experiences feelings for Dean.





	Choose You

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you bluefire986 for creating such a beautiful piece of art for me to work with. I know how busy you are with challenge work! Also - thanks for continuing to run the challenge! Thanks for taking the time to work with me:) As always, thank you masja_17 for your candor and tenacity when beta'ing! You rock!

"Samuel!" Mary Winchester called out from down the hall.

Straightening his leather vest, Sam closed his eyes and sighed. He was a bit slow heading down to the living room but there was a reason for that. Sam wasn't looking forward to having another long discussion about marriage and societal responsibilities with his parents.

Sam stopped at the full-length mirror by the door to his room. He tugged on the suede laces that crisscrossed their way down the middle of each panel of the vest.

Mary said the green vest brought out different colors in Sam's eyes, but he wore it because it was comfortable. He pulled out the wooden pendant he wore around his neck and made sure it was centered in the V of his vest. Two Ws intertwined were carved into the wood; it was the insignia of the Winchester family. Sam hadn’t taken the pendant off since the day his father had given it to him.

Sam straightened the collar of his linen shirt and smoothed down the sleeves. He was dressed appropriately for time with his parents so, at least, he wouldn’t have to listen to his mother berate him for his clothing choices.

Being part of a highborn family definitely had a lot of advantages. They had a beautiful house within the city walls and lived luxuriously. Sam's father, John Winchester, was a city official and the family was wealthy enough that Sam would never have to work if he were allowed to make that choice.

All Sam had to do was tow the line.

 _That_ was a problem.

"Samuel." Mary's voice had a sharper edge to it. She was obviously losing her patience.

"I'm coming, mother," Sam called out.

He pulled his boots on, ran his fingers through his hair and headed into the hall. He jogged down the broad staircase and crossed the foyer to the living room.

The crackling sounds of a fire reached Sam's ears as he entered the room. He smiled when he saw his father standing in his usual spot in front of the hearth. "Hello, father."

"Sam! It's about time." There was a warm smile on John Winchester's face. "Drink?"

"Really, Samuel. Your bedroom is only about one hundred yards from here and you still find a way to be late."

"Sorry, mother." Sam sat down in one of the overstuffed armchairs next to the fire rather than on the sofa with his mother.

Mary Winchester was beautiful, Sam just wished she had a personality to match it. Her long, blond hair was swept up into a bun that revealed all the subtle lines in her face. She frowned a great deal, especially when she was near Sam. She's often commented that Sam would be the cause of every grey hair on her head.

John handed Sam a glass of whiskey. "How are you, son?"

Sam smiled at his father as he took the glass. "I'm alright. I was out early for a ride with Snow."

"If you spent as much time on your social affairs as you do with that horse, you'd be much further along," Mary said sharply.

"Mary, please," John said warily.

Sam definitely got his temperament and his love for animals from his father, for that he was thankful.

Mary's long, taffeta dresses, sparkling jewels and silk shoes were better suited to the social life of the life of the highborn.

 _That_ was the part of life Sam struggled with. Sam was more comfortable in the stable working with Bobby than anywhere else. The parties, gatherings, all the intricacies of social climbing were lost on Sam.

"Snow needs to get out at least once a day, mother, or he goes wild in his stall and -"

"And Bobby's job is to take care of the horses," Mary interrupted.

"No one can ride Snow but Sam," John said with obvious pride in his voice. He turned back to Sam and held up his glass towards his son before taking a sip.

"That may be, but there are more important uses for Sam's time," Mary said.

Sam didn't need to ask what those things were. He was twenty-one and, as far as highborn society was concerned, he should be considering marriage. Sam did _not_ want to get married.

John smiled sympathetically at Sam before walking over to join his wife on the sofa. He rested his free hand on Mary's. "There's plenty of time, Mary. Sam's young and he's very popular."

"Popular will only help for so long. Sam?"

Sam choked on the whiskey he was swallowing and took a couple of seconds to compose himself. "Yes, mother."

"The Talbots have approached your father and me about their daughter, Bela."

"Mother, please. I'm not –"

"Sam!" Mary interrupted again. Her tone made it clear she expected to be listened to. "Bela is a lovely woman and the Talbots are an excellent family. Her father owns the mines and I'm sure you'd be given a position there if you were to marry into the family."

"That's great, but, what if I don't want to work at their… mines? Bobby says I'm the best horse-"

"- Oh, for goodness sakes, Samuel. Horses are a hobby, not a career," Mary answered dismissively.

John withdrew his hand from his wife's and leaned forward. "Sam, Bela _is_ great. I've spoken to her a few times. She's very intelligent, has quite an interest in medicine. She rides herself; has even competed in show jumping. Her father says she's a bit of a tomboy and quite independent."

"All of which, I'm sure can be rectified," Mary added as though John's opinion meant nothing.

"Sam, she's beautiful too," John said softly.

It felt like Sam's throat was closing. Bela probably _was_ beautiful… and kind and loving and a million other things. The issue was that it didn’t make much difference to Sam. Sam's type was more along the lines of Brady, the stable hand. _Not_ that he would _ever_ act upon it.

Sam sighed. "I'm just not interested in marriage right now. I want to work with Bobby. Perhaps, there are some places I could do some apprenticeship to learn more about equine care."

John looked down at his glass and tipped it back and forth a few times. "It's alright, Sam. There's time for us to figure this out."

"No, there isn't," Mary snapped. "Do you have any idea what people are hinting at because of your age and the fact that you remain a bachelor, Samuel?"

"Mary!" John barked. "Not now."

The firm, deep voice had made Sam jump. It was rare for his father to lose his temper. He shook off his surprise and glared at his mother. "You listen to gossip now, mother? I thought you detested gossiping women."

"Don't be obnoxious, Samuel. It's unbecoming," Mary said darkly. "People talk and people are beginning to question your _interest_ in potential marriage partners.

"Mary," John said gruffly.

"I don't _want_ to get married!" Sam exclaimed. "So, let them talk."

"They talk about how you might be more inclined to marry if you were able to choose a man," Mary said flatly.

Heat burned its way onto Sam's cheeks instantly.

John stood and walked back over to the fireplace. "Mary, you need to spend less time listening to idle gossip and more time listening to what your son is telling you."

As much as Sam appreciated his father's support, he couldn’t' shake the feeling that his mother, somehow, had the ability to read his mind. What could he say that wouldn’t be an outright lie?

Mary narrowed her gaze. "You _do_ remember that those _kinds_ of relationships can result in one being cast out, don't you, Samuel?"

Of course, Sam knew that. He knew all the reasons one could become an outcast: unusual sexual practices, capital crime, being the descendant of an outcast. There had been times when Sam had seen outcasts being tormented by highborn. He took no pleasure in that himself and often found himself wondering if they were like him and simply wanted the wrong gender.

"It's a ridiculous and cruel system," Sam said finally. "I'm not in any kind of relationship with anyone, mother. And will you _please_ call me, Sam."

The outburst seemed to surprise Mary. He eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly, and she glanced pointedly at John as though looking for his support.

The elder Winchester simply shrugged a shoulder and hid his smile by taking another drink.

"Well," Mary quipped. "I think I'll find something more productive to do with my time." She stood and smoothed her skirt down. "Have a good afternoon."

"Oh, Mary…" John said but it was too late. She left in a swirl of taffeta.

Sam sighed and stretched his long legs out in front of the fire as he slumped down more comfortably in the chair. "I'm sorry, dad."

John shook his head slowly and set his glass on the mantelpiece. He slid his hands into his trouser pockets and stared down into the flames. "I'm sorry everything has to be like this, Sam."

Sam had spoken many times to his father about their mutual dislike of highborn society. John Winchester was a simple man. He loved his family, he liked the outdoors, his stables and the horses they bred were his pride and joy. But, he also loved his wife and, it was highborn society that allowed him to do the things he loved.

"Sam, son. I know it's been a bit difficult for you. I _do_. But maybe you can find a way to make a marriage work for you," John said quietly.

"Work for me?" More than a little puzzled, Sam studied his father's face intently.

"If you're discreet," John said looking slightly uncomfortable. "Bela really is a remarkable woman. I'm sure she would understand."

Sam stood and set his drink down next to his father's. "There's nothing for her to understand," Sam said firmly. The burning in his cheeks had ignited again and he just wanted to leave.

"Sam, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just trying to help," John said quietly.

"I know," Sam snapped. His shoulders tightened, and he regretted his tone when he saw the worry etched on his father's face. "I know."

John smiled sadly. "Get out of here, Sam. The Harvelles are breaking open a new keg tonight at the market. Enjoy yourself."

Forcing a smile, Sam stepped in and hugged his father tightly. He breathed in the comfortingly familiar scent of leather and his father's cologne. "Love you, dad."

John tousled Sam's hair and squeezed him tightly before letting him go. "I love you, Sam."

Sam headed out quickly, so he didn't risk running into his mother again. He grabbed his hooded jacket and bolted out the front door.

A pint of beer was tempting, but so was another ride with Snow.

Sam did what he always did when the world got to be too much; he headed for the stable.

Of course, Bobby was there. He nearly always was. "Sam, you're just in time. That stallion of yours in a royal pain in my ass. And he’s gettin’ Onyx all riled up."

Laughing, Sam headed down to Snow's stall when he heard his familiar whinny.

"Hey, boy. Is Bobby giving you grief?" Sam reached over the wooden gate to rub the horse's velvety muzzle.

Snow snorted, tossed his head and pawed at the straw in the bottom of his stall.

"Me?" Bobby reached into a bucket and grabbed a handful of barley that he held out for Snow.

Snow knickered and nuzzled Bobby's hand.

"You're spoiling him with that," Sam said as he combed some knots out of Snow's hair with his fingers. Bobby kept some cooked barley at the stable because Snow didn't like the taste of it when it was raw.

"Son, you've been spoiling him since the day he was born," Bobby grumbled. He reached out for the black muzzle that had appeared over the gate of the next stall. “Here you go, Onyx.”

"I should probably take him out again," Sam said as he rubbed Snow's nose.

"He needs to get out, or do you?"

Bobby always seemed to know what was going on in Sam's mind. "Bit of both."

"Watch yourself out there," Bobby said in a gruff voice. "These old bones are tellin' me there's some bad weather coming'."

"Don't worry, Bobby. Snow never wants to be away from Onyx for very long. Besides, your bones aren't all that accurate." Sam smiled as he grabbed the bridle off the hook in front of him.

-=-=-=-

Sam set out with Snow at a walk. They followed the winding dirt road to the city wall and then headed out through the huge iron city gates.

Outside the walls was an entirely different world. Everything changed. The houses were more like shelters, the roads dwindled down into simple paths. There were no high-born living outside the walls. No one that Sam was passing lived as fortunate a life as the Winchesters did.

The area just outside the walls was busy. There were makeshift stalls set up against the stone walls. People were selling the necessities: food, clothing, tools and other hand-crafted items.

It was simple to see that the people were different, their lives nowhere near as opulent as Sam's. There were some outcasts gathered near where the path disappeared into the forest.

They always kept their distance, no doubt, unsure of peoples' reactions. Sam had seen some highborn youths seek out an outcast to hurl insults at them. When those encounters escalated, there were sometimes injuries. It wasn't uncommon to see outcasts with injuries.

Sam hated the entire system. He saw no reason for a human being to be treated with such disdain. Most highborn, like Sam's mother, liked to argue that outcasts had committed crimes and they deserved to be ostracized. But, Sam knew most of the crimes were against highborn society. People who were different for some reason.

People like Sam.

Sam squeezed his legs and Snow cantered past the men.

The moment they entered the woods, Sam felt the cool shade wrap around him.

Snow tossed his mane and Sam leaned forward slightly in the saddle to get him to pick up speed.

There was only a short distance before the path became more overgrown and they would have to slow down. So, Sam let Snow gallop for a little while, to work off some of his never-ending energy.

They didn’t go into the woods often. Sam usually preferred the open fields and the foothills. Although he'd never seen anyone, he's heard tales that there were outcasts living in the forested areas. And why not? If their choices were to be beaten or abused within the walls of the city or to live a quiet life in the dense forest; the best choice was obvious.

A sharp branch snatched at Sam's shirt sleeve and he pulled back on the reins to slow Snow down to a walk. The last thing he needed was to head home covered in cuts and scratches. That would be more ammunition for his mother to use in another argument about how savage Sam was.

Sam was hardly savage. He just didn't want the life his parents lead. He knew there was little room for compromise but wondered if his father might have a point. Perhaps a woman like Bela would mean that Sam could still work with horses at least. As for Sam's other desires, he had no idea if his father was right.

He hadn't the slightest notion how to go about bringing up the subject with a potential spouse.

Lost in his thoughts, Sam relaxed slightly. The sway of Snow's body was soothing, the crunch of his hooves in the overgrown path was familiar and calming. Time slipped away without Sam even noticing.

It wasn't until he felt light rain on his face that Sam became aware of how dark it had become around them. The wind had picked up and the way it was rustling through the trees was a little eerie. "I think we'd better head home, Snow."

Just as Sam tugged on the right rein to turn Snow, there was a crack, and something emerged from the bushes.

Snow neighed and reared up, almost unseating Sam. Fortunately, Sam was strong and _very_ used to Snow's temperament. He managed to hold on until Snow had all four feet on the ground once more.

A deep voice spoke up from just in front of them. "Settle there. Nothing to be afraid of. You're too strong to be afraid of someone like me. Shhhh."

Snow tossed his head once more, knickered and then stepped forward.

Tilting his head slightly, Sam leaned forward to get a look at the person who was speaking. There was something a little familiar about him but Sam couldn’t put his finger on what it was. "Snow doesn't usually like strangers."

The man in front of them on the path was an outcast. Sam's eyes moved immediately to the thick leather bands that were sewn onto each of the man's wrists. If he were ever caught in the city without those bands he could be hung.

"I've always loved horses," the man said. He smoothed his hand down Snow's nose and a gentle smile curved its way onto his full lips.

The man was wearing a wrinkled, sky blue, linen tunic over a grubby looking white cotton shirt. His hair was brown with some light streaks in it, shoulder length, and tousled.

Sam wiped some raindrops from his brow and swung his leg over the saddle, so he could jump down. The moment the man saw him, he took a couple of steps backward. "Sorry."

Frowning, Sam stepped forward and patted Snow's neck. "I'm Sam Win-"

"- I know who you are." The man hiked a bag higher on his shoulder, bowed his head slightly and headed back into the bushes.

"Wait!" Sam called out. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to talk to the man. Snow seemed to like him, so he couldn't be all bad.

The outcast stopped in his tracks and turned to face Sam. "I wasn't thinking, Sir. I shouldn't have touched your horse."

Sam's frown deepened, and he shook his head. They were in the middle of a forest, he figured it was safe not to stand on ceremony.

"Don't call me, Sir. My name is Sam. And this monster is Snow." Sam tugged Snow forward as he stepped closer himself. He smiled. "Now he knows that you like him, Snow will stop at nothing to get attention."

Very slowly, the apprehensive gaze of the outcast met Sam's.

The man's eyes were a gorgeous color. Green, almost as though they were made of glass. Even in the dim light, they seemed bright and alert.

Hesitantly, the man stepped back out of the undergrowth and closer to Snow.

Snow snorted and stepped forward, so he could nudge the man's shoulder.

"I told you," Sam said with a warm smile on his face.

The outcast rubbed his hand down Snow's muzzle and kept his gaze on Sam's. The corners of his mouth twitched into the slightest smile before he turned to look at Snow.

The rain picked up slightly and Sam wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. "What's your name?"

The man turned his face towards Sam once again, eyes narrowed suspiciously. He was soaked and there were drops of water sliding down his freckled covered cheeks. "I'm outcast."

Ah yes, Sam thought to himself. The standard response. He couldn't blame the man for being suspicious. "Let's try again," Sam said. He extended his hand. "I'm Sam Winchester. This is Snow. You are?"

For a few moments, it looked as though the man might bolt, then he stepped around Snow and slid his hand into Sam's. "I'm Dean."

 _Dean._ Sam's heart skipped a little faster in his chest. Dean had a beautiful face. His chiseled features were softened slightly by his freckles and moss-green eyes. His palm was rough, his grip strong. "Nice to meet you, Dean."

Sam was still smiling when Dean pulled his hand free. He went back to stroking Snow's mane.

Sam cleared his throat, feeling a strange tingling in his chest. He noticed that there was some blood running down along Dean's hairline at his temple and he reached out to move his hair back.

As soon as Sam's fingertips touched the warm skin of Dean's forehead it was like a switch was flipped.

Dean jerked back away from Sam with his arm raised up as though to shield himself from a blow.

Holding his hands up in surrender, Sam stilled. "Sorry, Dean. I. I was just worried. You're bleeding."

When Dean frowned, Sam motioned to Dean's temple. Understanding cleared Dean's features. "It's nothing."

Remaining unconvinced, Sam sighed and smoothed his hair back from his face. He could feel the cold raindrops on his head and the cold dribble of water running down his spine. "We were just turning around to head home."

For a while, Dean just stared, then he took a deep breath. "There's a bad storm coming. Saw it from the foothills. You won't get back home in time."

"I'm sure we'll be fine."

"Snow's hurt," Dean said as he reached for the horse's bridle. He turned Snow's head slightly, whispering in his ear.

"Shit." Dean was right. There was a cut and a puncture on Snow's chest and Sam felt panic nipping at his heels.

He trailed his fingers gently around the wound. "God, Snow. I'm sorry."

Snow nosed Sam's cheek once and snuffled into his hair. He seemed fine, but horses could be very stoic when it came to injury. "I need to get him home."

For a minute or so, the only sound around them was the roaring of the wind through the treetops around them. Then Dean rested his fingers near Sam's on Snow's coat. "I can help."

Staying silent, Sam looked over at Dean and tried to calm his rattled nerves. Snow could always tell when he was upset, and he nudged at Sam's shoulder.

Dean leaned in closer to inspect the wound. "I don't think it's deep enough to be dangerous, but it should be cleaned out then I'll be able to tell if it's alright. He should rest and get warm too."

"I'll have to walk him home," Sam said. He felt terrible. If he hadn't wanted to escape from all the rules and responsibilities of his life, then Snow wouldn't have been hurt.

"You could bring him to… where I live."

Sam's gaze snapped back to Dean's. "You have a stable?"

Dean lifted his eyebrows and Sam realized what a stupid question it was. As an outcast, Dean would be lucky to have shelter.

"I don't have a _stable_ , but I have a shelter for a horse that's warmed by the same fire I use."

Of course. Sam nodded and felt more rain sliding cool and slick down his spine. "Do you have horses?"

"I had a horse. She was taken from me." Dean coughed, wiped some rain off his cheek and stepped back. "You're welcome to share my shelter tonight. I'm sure it's not what you're accustomed to but you'll be warm and dry. This storm's going to be terrible. You'll both be better off out of it, but the choice is yours."

Dean turned and headed along the path as Sam watched.

Snow snorted, nudged Sam's shoulder and took a few steps in Dean's direction before looking back pointedly at Sam.

"Fine," Sam muttered. He looped the reins through his fingers and headed after Dean.

-=-=-=-

Dean was absolutely right about the storm. By the time they reached the shelter, the storm was raging around them.

It had taken them over half an hour to reach Dean's home, but it would have taken Sam and Snow more than three hours to return to the city. Sam _really_ needed to learn to pay more attention when he was riding.

Dean's _home_ was just as he'd described it. It was a wooden structure, about twenty-five feet by fifty feet. Half the building was completely walled off with rough logs and the other half Sam recognized as a stable.

Unlatching the gate to the stable, Dean gestured for Sam to walk Snow in. With the rain still pelting down on them, for once, Snow was happy to go inside.

"There's some dry hay stored," Dean called out over the roar of the wind.

For a few moments, Sam pressed his forehead to Snow's damp muzzle. "You okay, boy?"

Snow nickered and blew out a puff of hot air into Sam’s face. He pawed at the dirt floor and nudged at Sam, pushing him back slightly.

Regaining his balance, Sam smiled and shook his head when he saw that Snow was nuzzling at some hay on the ground.

The gate behind them opened again and Snow tossed his head.

Sam shivered as the cold wind whipped around the small stall.

"You're cold," Dean said. He brushed some of the rain off his face and slid his hand along Snow's flank as he walked up to stand beside Sam.

"I am," Sam said. "You must be frozen." He could see that Dean's clothing wasn't nearly as robust as his own.

"I'm used to it," Dean answered. "I started a fire inside, won't take long to catch. I left a clean tunic and a blanket on the wooden rack. You should change."

Sam stood there, staring, watching as water trickled down the side of Dean's neck.

"If you _want_ to change, that is," Dean said as he cast his gaze downwards.

Realizing he hadn't answered, Sam nodded and shoved his hair out of his eyes. "Yes. I. Yes, I'd like that. Sorry."

When Dean looked up again, he nodded towards the other side of the building. "Go on ahead. I can wipe Snow down and clean up his wound. I'll put a blanket on him for the night."

Normally, Sam would be the last one to leave Snow anywhere alone, but his teeth were chattering, and he couldn't feel his fingers anymore. He sniffed, feeling the cold seeping through his clothing. For some reason, he trusted that Dean would take care of Snow. There was a sweetness in his eyes when he looked at the horse.

Impulsively, maybe because he was so weary, Sam leaned down and kissed Snow's nose. He was sure he saw Dean smile before he turned away.

-=-=-=-

The air in the small living space was warmer. Sam pushed the door closed behind him to shut out the worst of the weather.

It might not be what he was used to, but it was much better than facing hours of walking in a storm.

The room was small. There was a raised pallet on one side, covered with mismatched blankets. The opposite wall had a bench built into the wall and in the middle of the outside wall was a stone fireplace. Small flames were just beginning to lick at the sides of a huge log.

Just as Dean had said, there was a rack over the fireplace. After another quick look around, Sam undid his vest and pulled it off. Beads of water dripped from it once he'd hung it on the rack. His shirt was soaked through and he had some trouble getting out of it, before hanging it as well.

He sat down and pulled his boots and socks off, so he could dry them. Through the wall, he could still hear Dean moving around Snow, so Sam peeled off his wet trousers quickly.

He wriggled into the tunic Dean had left for him and felt more than a little underdressed. Fortunately, the blanket on the bench behind him wrapped easily around his waist. The shivering had lessened but Sam still felt cold. He was surprised that Dean hadn't come in to dry off.

The wall was thin enough that Sam could hear Dean speaking over the sound of the rain pelting the roof. He moved a little closer to the wall.

"He takes good care of you," Dean was saying to Snow. 

Sam pressed his ear to the warm wood. "You live better than I do. But, I'm okay with that. Anyone who _you_ like can't be all bad. Do you think he'll file a complaint about me?"

Snow snorted, and Sam heard his hoof pawing the ground. He heard something that sounded like a chuckle.

"We'll see, I guess," Dean said. There was some rustling and the sound of Dean's boots on the ground. "That should keep you warm. This was Onyx's blanket. She's… well, goodnight, Snow."

As Sam moved back over to the fire quickly, he felt his blood run a little colder. _Onyx_ … just like the beautiful, black mare that John Winchester had brought home one afternoon from the auction. Outcasts weren't allowed possessions of any significant value. While it wasn't uncommon to see them with mules or rickety carts – Onyx would have been a prize. _If_ she was the same horse. Sam was sure his father wouldn't have taken a horse from anyone, but he may have bought one inadvertently.

The door opened and a burst of cold, damp air forced Sam closer to the fire.

Of course, Dean was soaked. He swept his damp, shoulder-length hair back from his face revealing the cut that had bled down his face, then toed off his boots. "Snow's dry and he's got a blanket on. I gave him hay and water. I don't have anything else for him to eat. I put ointment on his wound. I hung up your tack. It will be fine for your ride home tomorrow." Dean held up a small wooden container.

Realizing that Dean was standing by the door looking as though he was waiting to see if there were further orders, Sam nodded. "Thank you. That's very generous of you."

“I need to dry off,” Dean said in a low voice. “Then I’ll go.”

"Go?" There was only one door, so Sam was pretty sure there weren't any other rooms for Dean to stay in.

"I'll leave you to stay here. There's a space above Snow I can-"

" – Don't be ridiculous," Sam interrupted.

"Sir," Dean said respectfully. " _Sam_ , I don't want any trouble. I don't want to be reported for anything. I really was worried about Snow and that's why I brought you here."

"Dean," Sam said softly. "You've been very kind to us and I am thankful for that. I’m not going to repay that by reporting you for a breach of some antiquated rule.”

Looking a little taken aback, Dean stared at Sam and remained where he was by the door.

Sam sighed. “It's your home, Dean. Be comfortable." Sam stepped closer to the fire and held his hands out to warm them. He stared down at the fire in silence for a few moments, then he heard Dean moving around behind him.

“Alright,” Dean said quietly.

It was difficult to hear him over the sound of the storm. Sam nodded and folded his arms so he could warm his hands under his arms. He just watched as Dean toed his boots off, then pulled his socks off. He hung them over the rack and grabbed the hem of his tunic. As he pulled it up, more injuries were revealed.

Dean turned back to the fire and when Sam looked up, his eyes widened. There were angry looking wounds slashed across Dean's back. They were too clean to have been made by branches, but they looked fresh. A trickle of blood ran down between Dean's shoulder blades. 

 

Sam strode across the small room without a second thought. "God, how did that happen?"

They were inches apart when Dean turned to face Sam. Dean tilted his head slightly, so he could see Sam. "You _know_ what happens to outcasts when we encounter highborn."

Perhaps Sam knew what he'd seen. But, he's never seen so much blood on one person. His brain was beginning to put all the pieces together and he was realizing how naive he'd been.

It was easy to be indignant from the comfort of his home. What was laid out in front of him was the stark reality of living as an outcast.

Sam shook his head slowly. "Dean, I've seen people say horrible things to outcasts. I've stepped in sometimes, stopped people. But, I swear, I've never seen anything like that." Sam gestured towards Dean's back.

Something darkened in Dean's expression. "No one stops it. It just happens. It's the way things are."

"Well, it shouldn't be," Sam said quickly. He stood and closed the distance between them, so he could check the wounds on Dean's back. Without even thinking, he reached out and pressed his fingers to Dean's shoulder blade.

All of Dean's muscles tensed and he stepped back so quickly that he bumped into the wall and knocked the shelf loose. It swung back and forth beside him as he pressed back against the wall. "What are you doing?"

"I was just – I'm sorry." Sam held up his hands and took a step away to give Dean more space. "Your back looks terrible. Painful. Can I-"

"Sam, it's fine. We. You need to keep your distances. I’m outcast and you're highborn. I don't want any trouble."

Frustrated, Sam took a deep breath. "No one is getting in trouble."

Looking a bit skeptical, Dean nodded once. He seemed frozen there, between Sam and the wall.

“I - you should let me make sure that’s alright,” Sam said quietly but firmly. He didn’t want Dean to get an infection because of ridiculous social norms.

Shaking his head slightly, Dean squared his shoulders. There was a muscle twitching in his jaw as he fixed Sam with a stubborn stare.

Those green eyes were the only thing that betrayed any unease. Dean was in an awkward position, teetering on the edge of impropriety and knowing all the power in the situation was Sam’s.

Sam smiled slightly, hoping to disarm Dean. “Please?”

Dean’s gaze flicked down to Sam’s mouth then back to his eyes. He pressed his lips together then nodded almost imperceptibly.

Some of the tension ebbed away from Sam’s shoulders. 

Dean picked up the small wooden container of ointment then pressed it into Sam’s hand. He peered into Sam’s eyes for a long moment, then turned to face the wall. He pressed his palms to the wall at shoulder height, presenting his broad, muscular back to Sam.

The wounds were worse than Sam had initially thought. It had been a series of cruel blows that had flayed open Dean’s skin. there were three particularly deep scores in the honey-colored flesh, slicing diagonally from Dean’s left shoulder across his entire back. The wounds were still open, raw and the skin at the edges was red and angry. “Did this just happen?”

Turning his head slightly, Dean nodded again. “This morning.”

As Sam opened the ointment, he stared at the wounds, trying to imagine the anger it took to be so cruel. “Aren’t you in pain?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder and turned his head so he could rest his forehead against the wall.

The ointment was sweet smelling, and Sam scooped some onto his index finger. “Well, this shouldn't happen.”

If Dean had any opinion on the matter, he kept it to himself.

Sam took a deep breath, then began to slide his finger along the first slash. He heard Dean’s sharp intake of breath and saw the muscles across his shoulders tighten. It had to be incredibly painful. “I’m sorry.”

The next breath that Dean drew in seemed to make his body shudder. His shoulders lifted slightly as Sam continued to spread the ointment the length of the second gash.

“When I was about sixteen,” Sam began. “I found a foal that had gotten itself all caught up in barbed wire. I spent an hour untwisting the wire to free him without causing him any more damage.”

Dean lifted his head from the wall and tilted it slightly as though he was listening.

“I carried him home as soon as I got him free. Poor guy was too exhausted to even stand.” Sam continued to smooth the ointment over Dean’s back as gently as he could.

“Did he survive?” Dean asked

“He did. I got him to my Dad. He and Bobby cleaned his wounds, hand fed him, got him to drink,” Sam said. His fingers moved slowly down the length of the final gash and he saw Dean’s back muscles twitching again. “I slept in front of our fireplace with him until my Dad woke me later that night. I hadn’t even noticed that my hands were a mess. They were all chewed up by the wire but I didn’t even feel it.”

Dean nodded once, then cleared his throat to try and hid the hiss of pain that had escaped. “Did you keep him?”

Sam nodded as he watched his fingers move over the freckle covered skin. “My Dad sent out word we had found him but he was never claimed. Bobby raised him, he loves that horse.”

Dean’s leg buckled slightly and Sam instinctively circled his arm around the man’s chest to stop him from falling. They froze there, the wind and rain battering the small cabin. Sam was scarcely breathing, focused solely on the way Dean’s hair brushed against the tip of his nose. He smelled like rain and the fresh night air.

Very slowly, wary, Dean turned in Sam’s embrace until they were facing.

Never in his life had Sam been so close to another man, let alone one as beautiful as Dean. And _beautiful_ was the only word he could come up with.

The lashes on Dean’s wide eyes were long and dark. The green irises were a little _too_ brilliant in the light from the fire. There were freckles peppering his high cheekbones and they looked almost the same color as the hint of red in the stubble on his chin.

There was something about that perfect face that made Sam lift his free hand and press his fingers gently to Dean’s temple. The cut there was beginning to clot and there was already the dark undercurrent of a bruise.

Dean flinched slightly but held his ground. He was only inches shorter than Sam but he was more solid, muscular and strong.

As Sam moved his fingers down to Dean’s cheek, their eyes met. The intensity of Dean’s stare made Sam’s heart begin to race in his chest. There was a stubborn set to his shoulders and the twitch in his jaw was back.

Sam licked his lips and let his hands slide down to Dean’s hip. He loved the feel of the strength in Dean’s body.

Without even really being conscious of it, Sam leaned in to press his lips to Dean’s. At the last second, Dean pulled away slightly and glared at Sam. “I do _not_ owe anyone that.”

Shame slid over Sam as he realized was Dean was implying. It was a barb in the center of his chest. No, Dean didn’t owe him a thing, of course, he didn’t. Feeling a little nauseous, Sam dropped his hands and stepped back slightly as his eyes began to burn with unshed tears. “I didn’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that you _owed_ me anything. I just…”

The words wouldn’t come and Sam had no idea what he could say that would convince Dean that he meant no harm. It felt horrible, as though he’d let Dean down and he had no idea why. “Forgive me. I - I had no intention of offending you. I should. I’ll check on Snow. You’ve been nothing but kind to me. It’s just…” Sam shook his head as he continued to back away. He felt a little trapped and found himself reaching for his clothes to see if they were dry.

“What?” Dean asked sharply. There was judgment in his eyes, those same eyes that had drawn Sam in.

“It’s just… your eyes. They’re gorgeous,” Sam answered quietly. As he reached for his soggy tunic, he heard a movement behind him. Several things shot through his mind. He should _never_ have tried to kiss Dean was the foremost thought, he was about to be punched or maybe, he would just be thrown out into the storm.

Sam felt a strong grip on his arm and only had a moment to realize it was Dean before he was spun and slammed back against the wall by the fire.

The impact pushed the breath out of Sam’s lungs and he flung his hands up to grip Dean’s shoulders as he gasped for air.

Dean stared for a moment, a very different fierceness in his eyes, then he closed the distance between them.

With fresh adrenaline still coursing through his veins, Sam felt his heart throb in his chest. Dean’s lips were soft and full, his kiss commanding and possessive. Awash with unfamiliar emotion, Sam felt his knees buckle.

Dean’s hands slipped under Sam’s arms and held him up as his mouth moved relentlessly.

Sam had kissed and _been_ kissed, but he’d never been claimed before and that was exactly what it felt like Dean was doing.

Struggling to suck in breath between passes of Dean’s lips, Sam felt as though he was about to tip right off the edge of the world. His hands moved along Dean’s shoulders, down over his biceps and around to his shoulder blades.

A soft grunt of pain reminded Sam of the wounds on Dean’s back and he gentled his touch.

Dean’s tongue pushed past Sam’s lips, sending another pulse of heat rolling down over his body.

Trying to get his feet back under him, Sam shifted his hips and moaned softly. His already swollen cock, caught between their bodies was the most exquisitely painful pleasure that Sam had ever felt.

His teeth locked onto Dean’s bottom lip briefly and then he felt fingers tangling in his hair. Dean withdrew finally, flushed, panting, lips slick with spit. His gaze locked with Sam’s as he held him there against the wall.

It felt to Sam as if his heart might burst apart. His throat worked desperately as he tried to swallow.

Then Dean’s thigh pressed up against Sam’s crotch and Sam lost his breath again. He couldn’t help the way his spine arched so he could press his swollen flesh harder against Dean’s firm thigh. He’d never wanted anyone like he wanted the man in front of him.

Hands moving again, Dean stayed _just_ far enough away that Sam couldn’t lean in for another kiss. Dean’s palms moved over Sam’s shoulders then down over his chest. The thin material of the borrowed tunic did nothing to mask the heat and roughness of Dean’s hands.

Sam bit down on his own bottom lip, his fingers trailing down over Dean’s chest. His skin was hot and smooth against the pads of Sam’s fingertips.

Dean’s fingers gripped the small of Sam’s back and their bodies shifted. Dean’s cock was hard under the damp pants he was wearing and he bent slightly then slid his body up against Sam’s to get exactly the kind of friction he wanted.

Another shot of pleasure and want slammed into Sam’s veins and he could feel himself trembling as he managed to grab hold of Dean’s hips.

All concept of time was lost to Sam as their bodies just moved together for a while. Their hips rocked together, strong thighs pressed up against aching shafts. Fingers tangled in hair and nails left red trails over pale skin.

When Sam was finally able to get both hands on Dean’s ass, the want in him built up so quickly it felt intense enough to melt his bones.

Dean yanked himself free and stumbled back a few steps leaving Sam disheveled and desperate against the wall.

The storm continued to rage against the small cabin and the sound of it was almost completely drowned out by the thumping of Sam’s pulse in his ears. He leaned back against the wall, hoping it would help to hold him up as he stared at Dean.

His long, damp hair was tousled, neck and cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of rose under auburn freckles. His strong chest almost heaved as he gulped air.

Sam took a shaky breath and licked his lips. He could still taste Dean there and he had to close his eyes for a moment.

When Sam blinked his eyes open, Dean’s eyebrows lifted slowly and he tilted his head towards the sleeping pallet.

Sam nodded, not caring an iota what he was agreeing to, it didn’t matter. If it involved their bodies pressed together, Sam would do anything.

They moved cautiously, as though afraid to startle each other. Dean reached the pile of blankets first and sat down on the edge. He reached out for the bottom of Sam’s tunic and tugged him into the V of his legs.

As Dean pushed the borrowed tunic out of the way, his mouth began to explore the flesh over Sam’s abs.

Sam’s knees felt weak again, and he leaned into the touch.

-=-=-=-

When Sam awoke, the first thing he was aware of was the storm still railing against the wall behind him. He was warm and still exhausted. He shifted his hips slightly and realized he was alone on the sleeping pallet.

A burst of worry made Sam roll over and he was relieved to see Dean standing in the center of the small cabin distractedly rubbing his chest. He was still naked and as the flames in the fire grew, shadows danced across the lines and curves of his body.

When Dean looked over at Sam, he smiled slightly and swept his hair back from his face. “Fire almost went out.”

Nodding slightly, Sam shifted back and pulled the blankets back as an invitation.

After a last glance at the fire, Dean padded back to the bed and climbed in. He lay on his side facing Sam, one arm tucked under his head.

“I didn’t… hurt your back?” Sam asked. He was quite certain he would be sore when he tried to get up. Dean had been instrumental in teaching him that there was a fine line between pleasure and pain.

“You kept me distracted,” Dean answered with the same gentle curve to his lips.

Unable to help himself, Sam reached out under the blanket and curved his hands over Dean’s hip. He couldn’t understand how someone with such kind eyes, a beautiful smile, how someone like Dean could be considered dangerous… and outcast. “Why were you cast out, Dean?”

Dean shook his head slowly and averted his gaze.

"Dean, tell me."

Dean's gaze narrowed, and he took a deep breath. "Are you _ordering_ me to tell you?" 

"No," Sam said quickly. “Aren’t we past that? You and I just-”

“-that doesn’t change the fact that you’re highborn,” Dean interrupted.

Sam could feel Dean’s body stiffen under his hand and he hated it. “I will never order you to do anything, Dean. It was… I’m curious about you. I want to know you. If you don’t want to talk about it…” Sam smiled slightly.

The fire snapped and crackled behind Dean, the light skipping around the room. Sam sighed and settled back down on the blankets.  
"I was with a man," Dean said quietly as he looked down at the fire. He was still near the wall but looked a little more relaxed. "My neighbor. He saw us together and reported me."

"You were highborn." The pieces all fell into place in Sam's mind. Dean was in good health apart from his injuries, and he'd owned a horse that the auctioneers obviously thought was valuable. That must have been why he had looked familiar. With shorter hair? Maybe dressed differently? Sam must have met him somewhere.

Finally, Dean nodded. "Not a well-known family. But, we were comfortable. My parents didn't do anything to help me, they didn't even try."

"My mother is the same," Sam said. The least he could do was demonstrate as much trust in Dean as had been shown to him.

"The same?"

Sam swallowed past the knot of tension in his throat. He'd never admitted anything aloud before and it was harder than he'd expected. "I. Well, I haven't married. My mother is concerned that there are rumors about me already."

Dean’s brow furrowed. "Rumors?"

Heat began to sneak its way up Sam's neck. "Rumors about me not liking-" Sam shrugged and waved his hand dismissively.

Still silent, Dean lifted his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly.

He was going to make Sam say it out loud. Sam licked his lips and squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments. "I believe that I… prefer men."

"You believe?"

"I'm mostly certain."

"Shouldn't you know absolutely?" 

Sam took a moment to collect his thoughts and catch up with everything that had happened. "I am certain… _now_... I haven't… hadn’t done anything with a man before."

There had been some clumsy fumbling with Jo Harvelle behind their free house, but Sam had realized quickly that it wasn't something earth shattering. Jo was sweet, funny, and not a traditional highborn priss, but it had been strange anyway. And lying there, fingers tightening on Dean’s hip, Sam was beginning to realize that there was no going back.

"Ah." Dean had the decency to look uncomfortable for a few moments once he had a complete answer. Then his smile returned and he looked at Sam from under his lashes.

As he looked into Dean’s eyes, Sam was starting to think that he was going to be in a lot of trouble.

“Tell me something, why were you out in the storm? Were you lost?"

Sam shook his head. "Angry at my parents. I just wanted to ride. Bobby told me there was a storm coming but I didn't listen to him."

"Bobby?" Dean shifted a bit closer.

"He runs our stable, takes care of the horses. He also gives me as much advice as I'm willing to listen to."

Dean’s smile broadened. "You have more horses?"

A nip of guilt made Sam wince. "We have four. Snow is mine. My father gave him to me a couple of years back. He taught me most of what I know about horses."

"Snow's beautiful," Dean said. He reached out and ran his finger along Sam’s jawline.

"What happened to _your_ horse?"

Dean didn't look up, but his shoulders tensed. "Auctioneers took her. _Outcasts_ aren't allowed possessions and Onyx was beautiful. She is as black as Snow is white, gentle and sweet."

Sam became more convinced that the horse in his stable at home was, in fact, Dean’s. He was certain that his father hadn’t known where the mare had come from. "I would never take anyone's horse away from them. Snow is my best friend. I can't imagine being without him."

Dean let his hand fall to the bed between them. "When you’re cast out, you become accustomed to losing everything you care about."

The sharp tone of Dean's voice made Sam lower his gaze. He'd always been ashamed of the social system in the city but meeting an outcast face to face was proving to be a rather large dose of reality. And really? What was he doing? In spite of what he might think about Dean’s status, he couldn’t change the way the city worked. 

“Sorry,” Dean said quietly. “I didn’t mean to sound so bitter. Things… well, it hasn’t been easy. Losing Onyx was the last straw, you know?”

Sam nodded, even though he had _no_ idea what Dean was going through. Their lives were so completely different. 

A gust of wind rattled the door in its frame and Sam jumped.

"The storm will get worse before it gets better," Dean said.

"Snow doesn't like storms."

"If I hear him, I'll go out and talk to him. He'll probably be fine though."

"Why's that?"

"He can hear us through the wall," Dean said. "He'll like that."

A little surprised, Sam grinned and and leaned in to kiss the smile on Dean’s lips. "I think maybe he will."

“We should sleep. The fire will last till morning,” Dean said quietly.

It was surprisingly easy for Sam to close his eyes. He rolled onto his back and got closer to the wall to give Dean more space. Dean shifted closer and slid his arm across Sam’s chest. 

Sam was still smiling as he fell asleep.

-=-=-=-

Before he even opened his eyes, Dean knew he was alone. He hadn’t had any sky-high expectations, but he had thought that Sam had seemed sincere.

Sincere people didn’t creep away before dawn.

When Dean opened his eyes and looked around, the cabin looked mostly the same. It was as though no one else had ever been there.

If it weren’t for the aches in his body and the unfamiliar scent on his blanket, Dean might have believed he had dreamed the encounter.

But, he hadn’t.

Sighing as he sat up, Dean spotted something out of the corner of his eye. Sam’s pendant was almost tucked under the pillow.

Dean picked it up and ran the pad of his thumb over the intertwined Ws. It had to have fallen off the night before. Setting it back down on the pillow, Dean turned his back on it and got up.

The storm had abated overnight, but the rainfall was still heavy. That must have been how Sam had managed to leave without Dean waking.

He pulled his trousers on, snatched his tunic off the rack above the fire and slipped it on over his head. The linen was crisp and warm.

The clothing he had lent Sam the night before was folded and in a neat pile on the bench. So strange. Just a handful of hours earlier, Dean had felt less alone than he ever had when he was entrenched in his highborn life.

Outcast or not, he had felt as though Sam really knew him - or at least - knew a part of the person he had always tried to hide.

When he reached down to poke at the fire, Dean winced. The wounds on his back pulled tight and he lost his breath for a moment. He straightened slowly and rolled his shoulders to assess the damage. He couldn’t feel anything damp, so he probably hadn’t started reopened the wounds.

His headache slightly and he tenderly explored the wound at his temple. It had scabbed over and just remained a bit tender. He’d dealt with worse, and probably would again in the future. That was his life and it wouldn’t be changing.

For some foolish reason, Dean slipped his boots on and yanked the door open so he could slip into the small horse shelter.

Of course, Snow was gone. The tack was gone and so was the blanket that had once belonged to Onyx. The last material thing that Dean had to link him to his horse was gone.

Unwelcome tears welled in Dean’s eyes and he swiped at them angrily. He should _never_ have stepped out of the undergrowth when he’d seen Sam. It was just that his handsome face had been so familiar, his exotic eyes as warm as each time Dean had seen him in the city.

He’d never dared to approach Sam when he’d been highborn himself, afraid his blush or the gruffness in his voice would give him away.

In their world, he had never dared to believe that he could eve have Sam Winchester in his bed. Confined by all the rules and regulations, he knew or he _thought_ he had known that Sam would have turned him in.

And then, out of nowhere, the man he’d fantasized about, avoided and ensure he remained a stranger to, had shown up in the storm.

In spite of his anger, the hopelessness of the situation, he’d allowed himself for a few moments to believe that fate’s hand had been at work when he’d met Sam.

He really _was_ ridiculous.

Trembling, perhaps from the cold or possibly from the anger and shame still simmering deep inside him, Dean retreated back into the meager warmth of the cabin.

-=-=-=-

Dean’s temper was on a low simmer for a day. Had he thought Sam might return? Unfortunately, a spark of hope had lingered. Sam knew where he was, he could have made the trip back easily in the time that had past.

But, as the sun traveled across the sky, and there was no sign of Sam, Dean sank down into his bitterness.

He deserved to be treated as a human being. The way Sam had spoken to him, the things he had noticed, it all conspired to make Dean believe that Sam might be different.

So, Dean ran through his usual day’s tasks. He repaired some of the thatching on the roof of his cabin, cleaned all the hay out of the horse shelter, gathered some firewood and set it out to dry under the roof overhang.

By the time the sun finally dipped below the horizon, Dean felt his anger begin to grow. He thought of the pendant that was still lying on his pillow and decided that he would make the long trek to the city to return it.

There was nothing for Dean to lose. He’d already lost his family, any privilege he’d had as a highborn and Onyx had been taken from him.

For the briefest amount of time, he had allowed himself to believe that there was a possibility of companionship. And companionship with a man he’d coveted from afar.

It was pathetic.

But, he decided as he settled into his cabin for the evening, he would make sure that everyone knew what Sam had done. He’d chosen to _associate_ with an outcast and that was the only weapon Dean had.

-=-=-=-

Just like always, the city was bustling when Dean arrived. He pulled up his hood, kept it low over his eyes and slipped inside the city gates with the Winchester pendant gripped so tightly it was cutting into his palm.

He knew the places Sam liked to be. He’d spent so much time trying to avoid Sam that he knew his schedule very well.

It was already late in the day, Dean had been hiking for hours. Sam would have ridden most of the afternoon. His evenings were often spent at the market or Harvelle’s talking to his friend, Jo.

The market was in the lower plane of the city and it was a popular place for young, single men. Men like Sam.

Even thinking about Sam made Dean’s heart beat a little faster. The confrontation would be well-worth the beating he would probably receive.

The thing about being an outcast was that it was easy to remain unnoticed. Most highborn averted their gaze, uncomfortable with his presence. It was simple for Dean to keep his shoulders a little hunched, his hood down almost over his eyes and kept to the shadows.

He moved gracefully through the crowd. He kept close to the stone walls of all the buildings, slipped down deserted alleyways and cut across fenced gardens.

The mixture of smiles that mingled together in the air near the market made Dean feel a little nauseous. The scents were heavy and oily on the air and he’d become used to the fresh air outside the city gates.

He slipped into the market and moved along behind the stalls. He was tossed the occasional glare over a shoulder but he just kept moving. He knew the areas of the market Sam frequented. The outskirts where the tack was sold. There was some beautiful leather work done in saddles, all designed to attract the highborn shoppers. A thousand years in the past Dean had purchased Onyx’s blanket at one of the stalls.

There was a crowd of people at the far end of the market. A musician with a guitar had gathered a circle of people around him and Dean scanned the crowd of familiar faces.

There was no sign of Sam so Dean moved deeper into the market.

There were some food stalls billowing smoke and Dean wove his way through them until he reached the first of the tack stalls. There were couples strolling hand in hand along the front of the stalls. The occasional group of young children ran past. For a few moments, Dean watched the children as they raced around happily.

He smiled slightly as he lingered near the stall of a Saddler. When he cast his gaze back across the crowd, he gasped when he caught sight of Sam.

The muscles in Dean’s chest tightened almost painfully as he watched Sam smile. He reached up and combed his hair back with his fingers.

As Dean stared, he tried to ignore the fact that he _knew_ how smooth and silky that hair was. It would be so much easier to turn around and leave if he didn’t know.

Sam emerged from the crowd, turned and reached back to press his palm to the back of a beautiful brunette. _Bela Talbot_. Dean knew Bela. Most all of the highborn young men knew her.

The Talbot family was very wealthy, powerful, and Bela was a remarkable woman.

Dean flinched back from the couple unconsciously. It made sense and yet it seemed completely wrong.

The fierce grip Dean had on the pendant tightened. The palm of his hand was throbbing and his nails were slicing into his flesh.

He took a deep breath, pushed the hood back from his face and strode towards Sam.

The crowd parted in front of Dean. There were puzzled looks, a man stepped forward with an angry look on his face but Dean just swept past him. he drew his arm up and back as he approached Sam. He darted away from another hand that grasped at his arm.

“Sam!” Dean yelled.

Sam’s head whipped towards the sound of Dean’s voice. For the briefest moment, his face brightened then confusion settled on his features.

Dean flung his arm forwards and Sam’s pendant launched at hit Sam in the center of his chest. “You forgot that when you left.”

The sounds of the crowd grew louder and Dean felt hands grab both of his arms. He struggled against the holds and felt a blow to his back. Pain tore across his upper back and he cried out as he was driven down to his knees.

People were yelling, someone kicked at Dean’s thigh as he struggled to get up. He thought he heard his name in all the chaos then someone of the crowd in front of him seemed to move out of the way.

“Stop it!” someone yelled. Sam? Was it Sam’s voice?

The grip on Dean’s arms loosened and he was able to pull his arms free. As he was pushing his hair out of his eyes, he felt someone slip their hands under his arms and haul him upright.

When Dean’s gaze settled on the face of his rescuer, he realized it was Sam and pulled away from him.”Don’t touch me.”

“Mind your tongue, outcast,” someone snarled from just behind Dean.

Brow furrowed, Sam took a step back and raised his hands. “Everyone? It’s fine. I can deal with this.”

In spite of the fresh pain in his back, Dean snorted and stepped back. “I don’t need to be _dealt_ with, I’m done with you.”

The muttering around them grew louder again and Dean felt a hand connect with the middle of his back.

“Dean, _shut_ up,” Sam hissed under his breath.

Bela appeared at Sam’s side. Her walking skirt swirled in the dust at her feet. Her arms were folded across her white blouse. She tossed her long brunette hair back over her shoulder. “Is that you, Dean? You’ve certainly gone downhill from the last time I saw you.”

Dean closed his eyes and clamped his jaw shut to prevent himself from saying anything derogatory. He’d been mad enough to seek out Sam but he _knew_ he was on a dangerous path.

“Bela, not now,” Sam said quietly. He reached out and grabbed Dean’s arm, pulling him out of the crowd of people who had gathered around him.

Dean stumbled as he was dragged behind one of the stalls but finally managed to get his balance.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Sam asked. He held up the cord that was wrapped around his hand. The wooden pendant swung back and forth slowly.

“Closure,” Dean spat. He wiped some dust from his face and spat on the ground. There was dust in his mouth.

“I meant-”

“Don’t!” Dean yelled. He looked around quickly and noticed that people were paying attention to them again. He flipped his hood back up and began walking backward away from Sam. “Leave me alone.”

“Dean, I didn’t -”

The confused expression on Sam’s face didn’t stop Dean from turning and running back the way he had come. He didn’t stop running until he was outside the city walls once more.

-=-=-=-

By the time Dean arrived back at the cabin, he was in a lot of pain. He was sweating, exhausted and his shirt was stuck to his back. The wounds had obviously opened up again.

He had to peel his shirt away from his flesh and it was painful as hell. He tried to wash it as best he could, but it was difficult to reach.

Finally, Dean collapsed onto his sleeping pallet and lay there on his belly staring at the fire.

He’d had hours to process what had happened. The problem was that he should have taken the time beforehand. Hearing Sam’s voice when he was being restrained had made him feel relieved for a few precious moments before his anger had taken over again. Sam had said he didn’t want to get married and yet, there he was strolling through the market with Bela like he didn’t have a care in the world. It just added insult to injury.

“What was I thinking?” Dean muttered.

He’d made some really stupid mistakes in his life but practically attacking a highborn in public was the ultimate in stupidity.

He’d be incredibly lucky if he didn’t get dragged from his cabin in the middle of the night and beaten to death.

Had it been worth it?”

Dean closed his eyes and listened to the fire snapping and crackling. He might have thought that he’d wanted to see the hurt of Sam’s face, to know that this aim had been true and he had struck an equally damaging blow.

The problem was that, if anything, Dean felt worse. There was an aching emptiness in his chest; a constant reminder that he would never see Sam again.

Perhaps that was for the best.

-=-=-=-

The sounds of hooves on the rocky ground outside woke Dean so abruptly that he was up and struggling into his pants before he knew he was doing it.

It had come down to this. Someone had come to ensure he paid for the disrespect he had shown the highborn in the market. So bet it. He’d be taken from his home in the middle of the night.

Dean brushed his hair back from his face and listened intently. It sounded as though there were two horses.

With his back as painful as it was, there was no point in Dean trying to fight. He’d just be worse off in the long run.

He squared his shoulders and pulled the door open. As he squinted out into the darkness, he could just make out the outline of a rider.

“Dean.”

The voice stopped Dean in his tracks and he took a step back. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Dean saw Sam astride Snow with another horse in tow.

Sam swung down off the saddle, dropped Snow’s reins and untied the second set. He tugged and pulled the second horse into view. “I brought her home.”

There was far too much going on in Dean’s mind for him to immediately make sense of everything. He glanced at the second horse then did a double take. “Onyx?”

The blue-black shimmer of her coat was unmistakable, even in the moonlight. She tossed her mane and headed straight for Dean. Her smooth nose nudged at Dean’s chest so forcefully that he almost lost his balance. She knickered and mouthed his shoulder with big, soft lips. “Hello, girl.”

Emotion welled up in Dean and he found it hard to swallow. “Did you have her taken from me?”

“No,” Sam answered quickly. “Of course, I didn’t.”

“It was magic that you ended up with her then?” The bitterness in Dean’s voice even surprised him. When he finally looked over at Sam, there was only hurt on his face.

“No, Dean, it wasn’t magic. When you told me about Onyx I thought this might be her.” Sam took a couple of steps closer and patted Onyx’s neck.

“Where was she?” Dean couldn’t stop rubbing his hand down the velvet softness of the horse’s muzzle.

“She was at our stable. My father bought her at auction. He didn’t want her going anywhere else. He said someone had loved her before and she needed a good home.”

“Did you bring her here to gloat? Prove how much better your life is?” Dean snapped. He had no reason to believe that Sam had brought her there for any other reason.

Sam held out the reins until Dean took them. “I brought her home. She’s yours, she belongs here.”

It was hard for Dean to believe what he was hearing. He stared at Sam, trying to read the expression on his face.

Finally, Sam pulled out a parchment roll and handed it to Dean. “It took me this long to work out the details. My father has signed Onyx into your care. He can’t give you ownership until the laws are changed. This document will prevent her from being taken from you again.”

The words were spinning around in Dean’s mind and he couldn’t help thinking that he was imagining everything. “Why should I trust you?”

Sam shrugged. “I thought I hadn’t given you a reason _not_ to trust me. It seems I was wrong.” 

“She stays here from now on?” Dean asked grudgingly. As angry as he was, he didn’t want to miss an opportunity to have Onyx back.

For a few moments, Sam just stared into Dean’s eyes like he was searching for answers. Then he patted Onyx’s flank and stepped back. “She’s yours, Dean. That’s why I went home.”

Onyx snorted as Snow approached her. He sniffed her neck and leaned against her side.

“They’ve bonded, I’m afraid,” Sam said quietly. “Ever since Snow saw her, he’s followed her around everywhere.”

Dean finally allowed himself to believe that Onyx may actually be home again. He rubbed his hand down her neck and along her side. She was wearing a saddle with the Winchester insignia on the flap. “She’s fatter than she was before.”

Sam smiled and nodded towards Snow. “That would be _his_ fault.”

It took a moment for Dean to realize what Sam meant then he turned back to Onyx and combed his fingers through her name. “You’ll be back for the foal then?”

“Back? No,” Sam said. He shook his head and frowned. “I had thought… anyway. The foal will be yours too.”

Snow nuzzled Dean’s shoulder and whinnied. Dean patted him and unhooked Onyx’s rein so the two of them could wander. “What did you mean… _that’s why you went home_?”

Sam looked down and slid his hands into the pockets on his black riding pants. “I went home to get her. But when I explained everything to my father, he said I would need proper documentation or she’d just be taken from you again. I had thought I would only be gone a day but there were some things I had to take care of.”

“Like making sure you were still Bela’s first choice for a husband?” Dean couldn’t settle on an emotion. He was happy to see Onyx, but Sam… why did Sam have to be there in front of him again?

The expression on Sam’s face darkened and he pulled his hands out of his pockets and straightened his jacket nervously. “Can’t you even give me an inch? I wanted to be here with you that night. It’s the only time I’ve ever felt…” He shook his head. “This is pointless.”

“Felt what?” Dean asked. he could see how frustrated Sam was and couldn’t really imagine why.

“Felt like me,” Sam answered. “I wanted to go home and get Onyx and come straight back with her. But, my father was right. If it wasn’t done properly you’d just lose her again and that would break your heart. Besides, I left my pendant. It was proof I was here with you, that I acknowledged it. Proof I was coming back. I didn’t expect to have it thrown at me in the market.”

“You were with Bela,” Dean said weakly. All his reasons for beings so angry were quickly vanishing.

“I was doing Bela the courtesy of telling her I couldn’t marry her. I didn’t want my father to have to deal with it.” Sam dragged both hands down his face and groaned. “My mother was _so_ angry. She had my entire life planned out for me and then I told her I was changing everything.”

Dean nodded once and looked over at the horses where they were munching on the grass at the edge of the clearing. He noticed that there was a bedroll and some saddlebags on Snow. “You’re packed for a trip?”

“I was coming here. But, I see that was a mistake. We’ll just. I’ll let Snow rest a bit and then we’ll head off.” Sam sighed and his shoulders sagged slightly.

“Here?” Dean felt as though he was moving far too slowly to keep up with what was going on. He knew he wasn’t stupid, but there were some very mixed messages being given as far as he was concerned.

“I wanted to be here, with you. I know it doesn’t really make sense, but it felt right. _You_ felt right.”

“What?”

“I get it, Dean. You’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t feel the same way.”

“Why didn’t you say anything in the city?”

Sam threw his arm up in frustration. “I tried to! You wouldn’t even let me speak.”

Dean nodded and rolled his lips together. Sam had a point. He’d been so blinded by his anger he hadn’t been interested in what Sam had been trying to tell him. “I was angry.”

Sam laughed dryly. “I’m a quick study. I figured that out.”

“I woke up and you were gone.”

“I left the pendant,” Sam said as his fingers curled around it reflexively. “Of course, I would come back for that!”

“Why didn’t you leave a note? Did you forget I could read?” Dean barked.

“No,” Sam answered patiently. “I couldn’t find any parchment and I didn’t have any.”

 _Right_. There wasn’t anything in the cabin to leave a message on. “You could have just woken me up.”

“You looked so peaceful. And, I thought you needed the rest. You were really hurt.”

Dean _had_ slept well the night they’d been together. It was true that he’d been tired but it was a combination of so many things that had left him so relaxed that evening.

“Thank you for bringing Onyx home.” It wasn’t the only thing Dean wanted to say but it was the only thing he could manage.

With a half smile on his face, Sam nodded and looked over at the horses. “He’s not going to want to leave her.”

Dean glanced from Sam to the horses and then back again. “Maybe he doesn’t have to just yet. You have any food in those saddlebags?”

Sam nodded, a hesitant smile on his face. “Bread and some goat’s cheese.”

“Good. I have some rabbit.” Dean gestured to the cabin. “We should eat. And talk.”

Sam nodded quickly and blew out a long, slow breath. “I’d really like that.”

-=-=-=-

They ate quietly. Being a little uncomfortable and silent seemed a better choice than continuing a treacherous conversation.

Dean felt he was teetering on the edge of a strange world. he found himself repeatedly looking through the flames as they climbed up out of the fire to catch glimpses of Sam’s face. The intermittent light danced over Sam, hiding his eyes from time to time.

It felt… like something Dean could get used to. He was _almost_ at the point where he was willing to let himself believe that things could be different. 

_Almost_.

“You’re very quiet.”

Sam’s voice startled Dean and he sat back slightly. “I’ve been thinking.”

Onyx knickered softly when she heard Dean’s voice.

“If she’s wasn’t standing next to Snow, I wouldn’t be able to see her,” Dean said. Warmth welled in his chest as he glanced over at his horse.

“It’s like they were meant to find each other,” Sam said thoughtfully.

The moment Dean set his gaze back on Sam, the man looked uncomfortable and looked back down at the fire.

“Maybe,” Dean relented. He realized that he had been hard on Sam… since… the moment they met. “It’s been difficult for me to believe things like that sometimes.”

When he looked up, Sam smiled, obviously thankful for the olive branch. “I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you.”

Dean shrugged a shoulder. “It’s been long enough that _before_ seems like some kind of dream.” It was as close as Dean could get to the memories of his other life.

“I’m not sure you believe me,” Sam said, “but, I think this is all _very_ wrong. We aren’t less than human.”

“We?” It was like a tic, the way Dean couldn’t help but question everything that Sam said.

“Why shouldn’t I be cast out as well? According to the rules anyway. It’s not right. It needs to change.” Sam fell silent again, no doubt, caught up in his thoughts.

“What did your father say? Did you tell him…” Dean gestured to himself.

Sam’s eyes widened slightly then he looked down at his boots. “He knew. I didn’t have to tell him. He said he’d wondered for a long time.”

“He wasn’t angry?”

Sam shook his head. “He was worried about what my future would be. How I would live.”

“Is he worried about where you are?” It was good that Sam’s father was a different man than his own father.

Sam took a deep breath and looked across the flames at Dean. “I told him I’d be with you.”

Dean nodded once, throat tight and dry again. How did Sam keep doing that to him?

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Sam said quietly. “I suppose, I wasn’t. I feel like there are some things I just know but… my mother says I can be reckless.”

Dean tilted his head slightly and smiled. “I feel like you could be described as reckless sometimes, but it sounds like your father is the one who knows you better.”

The warmth of Sam’s smile grew as he nodded. “I spent most of my childhood with my father. My mother wasn’t very maternal.”

“You don’t have to go,” Dean blurted out. He wasn’t even sure where it came from.

Sam stayed silent, just looking across the fire at Dean. He didn’t look much like he believed Dean.

Dean cleared his throat and stood. He gestured for Sam to follow him and walked closer to the horses. “I was thinking it would be good to have a paddock here. Onyx likes it near the trees. Two man job really.”

“Yeah?” Sam said from just behind Dean’s shoulder.

“Yeah, and with a foal coming, we should probably build a proper shelter.”

“ _We_ should?”

Finally, Dean turned to face Sam. “This is _your_ fault after all.”

For a fleeting moment, Sam’s brow furrowed, then his lips softened into a smile. “Entirely _my_ fault?”

Dean looked down to try and stave off the smile that was lurking. “And clearly, Snow’s fault as well.”

“Right.” Sam shifted a little closer and reached out to brush the backs of his fingers against Dean’s.

“It’s not easy out here,” Dean offered. He wasn’t certain that Sam fully understood what he might be giving up.

“I’m sure I’ll adjust.” Sam _did_ look as though he believed that.

Dean just nodded. He didn’t want to make sweeping promises because he knew how quickly the world could change.

“With people like my father fighting to change things, you never know how things might turn out.”

Dean met Sam’s gaze. “You think he’ll do that for you?”

“I do. You can ask him yourself. He’ll be here in a couple of weeks to check on Onyx,” Sam said.

“What?” Dean took a step back. “When were you going to tell me that?”

“Before you made me leave, I suppose,” Sam answered. “He’s only coming to make sure you don’t need help with the foal. He’s bringing some hay and a few supplies.”

“Oh, is he?” At a bit of a loss for words, Dean simply stared into Sam’s eyes. He couldn’t help smiling and that feeling hadn’t come over him in a very long time.

“He just wants to make sure that Onyx is alright and that no one ever has a reason to think you can’t take care of her.”

“I have always taken better care of her than I do myself and that won’t change,” Dean snapped. It came out too sharply and he regretted it instantly.

“Dean, I’m not the enemy. When will you realize that?” Sam asked. He reached up and slid his fingers into Dean’s hair. “This has a better chance of working if you trust me.”

Dean studied Sam’s face as he tried to avoid the tingles that were slithering down his spine. He remembered the feeling from the first time Sam had touched him. It was a good memory, even if he _had_ tried to forget it. “I’ve been the only one on my team for a while.”

“Well, there are more of us here now. One day at a time?” Sam asked.

“You help me build the paddock and I’ll see if you’re worth keeping,” Dean said.

Snow knickered as he walked up behind them and nosed at Dean’s shoulder. “Not _you_ as well.”

Sam laughed and let his hand fall to Dean’s shoulder. “He’s hungry.”

Dean smirked and shook his head. “Everybody wants something from me all of a sudden.”

“Well, I _definitely_ do.”

The tone of Sam’s voice was enough to make Dean’s balls ache. He chuckled and whistled for Onyx. “Let’s get them settled… then I’ll work on you.”

-=-=-=-

It took them a long time to get the horses settled. They refused to be separated, and as amusing as that was, it was problematic.

Both beasts and men finally came to an agreement after a lot of shuffling around.

Onyx was in the shelter and Snow pawed at the ground at the entrance. Sam was certain that Snow wouldn’t budge during the night and Dean was inclined to believe him.

Primarily for his own peace of mind, Dean constructed a temporary fence using trees he had felled earlier in the week.

“I’m going inside. I”ll get the fire going,” Sam had finally said near midnight. “Come in soon.”

The words had softened Dean’s heart even more because it sounded… understanding. He’d noticed the way that Dean had been stealing glances at him. He’d noticed the way Dean had lingered near Onyx as though afraid she would be taken at any moment. Sam understood that things in Dean’s life had just become far more complex than they were before Sam’s arrival.

Dean stood in the doorway to the shelter and rubbed his hand down Snow’s nose. “I’m trusting you to take care of her.”

Snow knickered softly and pushed against Dean’s hand. When Dean stayed still, Snow nudged his shoulder.

“Alright, I’m going,” Dean muttered. Maybe Sam was right and snow really was smarter than the average horse.

When Dean pulled the door open, Sam already had a good fire started. The warmth hit Dean square in the chest and he realized that he’d been cold outside.

Sam was standing in front of the fire, hands clasped behind his back. There was a pink flush on his neck and cheeks and he had already shed his jacket.

“Thanks for doing that.” Dean gestured to the flames licking at the mouth to the stove.

Sam simply nodded and smiled. He dropped his gaze and his hair fell forward. He looked… relaxed.

Dean, on the other hand, felt a bit unsettled. To take his mind off Sam, he tried to go about his normal routine.

He left his boots by the door, hung his jacket on the wall hook and pulled his tunic off over his head. “There’s a stream about thirty yards to the north.”

“I thought I heard one,” Sam said as he looked up. “It’s so quiet here. Well, when it’s not storming.”

Dean balled up his tunic and wiped some dirt off his arms and chest before tossing it into a bucket by the door. He flipped the latch on the door and closed his eyes for a moment.

“You re-opened the wounds on your back.”

Dean nodded. “In the market.”

“Does it hurt?”

After a deep breath to steady his nerves, Dean turned back to face Sam. “Sometimes.”

Without another word, Sam grabbed the ointment off the shelf above the sleeping pallet and sat down on the blankets. He leaned back against the wall, one foot on the floor and gestured for Dean to sit between his legs.

Just like that, heat was spiraling through Dean’s veins. He reached up and rubbed at the shiver that was beginning at the nape of his neck then headed over to the bed.

As soon as Dean sat down, he felt Sam’s warm palm pressed against his shoulder blade. He trailed a finger diagonally across Dean’s back. “Should I bandage these?”

Dean shook his head slightly. “Too late for that now.”

He heard Sam open the container of ointment then felt the slid of it on his back. A sting of pain caught him off guard and he arched his back away from the touch.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Dean said through gritted teeth. He felt Sam’s touch hesitate. “The ointment takes some of the pain away.”

Seemingly reassured, Sam continued to cover the wounds gently.

“I used to avoid you in the city, Sam.” The confession was a way of keeping Dean’s mind off the pain.

“Why?” Sam’s voice was soft and low and slid down the furrow of Dean’s spine like liquid.

“Afraid my… the way I looked at you would give me away.” It seems a hundred years in the past. As Sam’s fingers moved over Dean’s back, it was as though the past was receding with the pain.

Sam stayed silent, fingers moving lower on Dean’s back. The touch was gentle and deliberate and Dean had to close his eyes.

“I wish you’d spoken to me,” Sam said quietly. It wasn't an admonishment. It was just a statement that made Dean wish he could turn back time.

“I’m not sure I could have stopped at speaking to you.” There was a sharp intake of breath behind him and Dean’s mind was flooded with unbidden images of Sam’s hair tousled, throat bared, panting.

Sam shifted behind Dean then his lips found the shell of Dean’s ear. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

Weakness shot through Dean’s body and he felt boneless. He turned into Sam’s body and leaned in to catch his mouth in a kiss.

Sam tasted the same, sweet like the grass stems he had been chewing earlier. His lips were pliant, inviting and Dean was sure he could be made a little mad by kissing them.

His hands found Sam’s body, firm and radiating heat through the thin cotton of his tunic. It was like coming home.

Sam’s mouth opened and his tongue snaked forward. He was _tasting_ Dean. It was controlled and possessive and Dean gasped. He wanted Sam.

He growled and caught the hem of Sam’s tunic. He yanked it up and they broke from the kiss long enough for Dean to lift it off over Sam’s head.

Then he was face to face with that tousled hair, hazel eyes dark and heavy-lidded, cheeks ruddy.

Dean rolled his lips together and stood so he could slip his trousers off. He let them drop to the floor carelessly and reached down to pull at Sam’s.

Sam shifted forward and laid down so he could lift his hips up off the blankets. His gaze darkened as he lay there, almost daring Dean to continue.

Dean felt a smile tugging at his lips as he wrestled the trousers from Sam’s long legs. He tossed them aside and gazed down at the body in front of him.

He moved his gaze slowly down Sam’s body, taking it all in. His broad chest was glistening with sweat, his abs clenched as he shifted slightly. His cock was thick and heavy, red against his flesh.

At his side, Sam’s hand clenched into a fist and he stared up at Dean with a smoldering heat in his eyes.

Enough. Dean climbed onto the bed and straddled Sam’s hard thighs. He was pleased to hear the soft moan that bled from Sam’s lips.

Dean leaned forward until he was holding himself up _just_ off Sam’s body.

Sam’s spine arched up off the pallet and his hard cock slid against Dean’s. He moaned again and Dean thought the sound was like a drug he was instantly addicted to.

Fingers dug into Dean’s hips, trying to draw him closer. He resisted, gazing down into Sam’s eyes.

“Dean,” Sam said softly. His voice was low, rubbed raw and he pressed his head back into the pillow in frustration.

Dean reached up to the shelf for the oil he kept there. He struggled to get some on his fingers then reached down between their bodies to slid it down Sam’s shaft.

Sam let out a strangled moan then clamped his teeth down on his bottom lip. His hips jerked up towards Dean’s and he closed his eyes. There was absolute trust on his face.

Impatient, need gnawing at him, Dean lifted his hips and positioned the head of Sam’s cock between his cheeks.

When Sam opened his mouth to protest Dean crushed their mouths together. As the kiss deepened, Sam’s protestations became a moan deep in his throat.

Dean lowered his hips slowly. He felt a dull ache as Sam’s cock breached his ring of muscle. He stopped just short of pain and gasped for air against Sam’s lips.

There was sweat beading on Sam’s forehead and he was trembling. He still held tight to Dean’s hips, seeming to struggle between wanting to pull him closer and keep him right where he was.

Dean took a few moments to stare down at Sam while they both caught their breath. Sam’s tongue slipped out to wet his lips and Dean felt his flagging erection begin to swell again.

He eased himself down further on Sam’s cock - _God, Sam was so thick and hot_ \- and began to tremble as he held himself up.

The throb of his ass matched the ache in his balls. His cock twitched between their bodies and he lowered himself again.

Sam was panting, nails cutting into Dean’s hips. His body was glistening with sweat, the strain of _holding back_ clear on his face. He pried one of his hands loose and ran it up Dean’s side. He squeezed his shoulder then slid his fingers into Dean’s hair and grabbed hold.

There was a glint in Sam’s eyes, the flames from the fire sending light all around the room. He slid his hands further around Dean’s body, pulling him closer, burying his cock even deeper.

The pain melted away into pleasure and Dean let himself fall forward and be held there in Sam’s arms. It felt good, the kind of good that Dean had expected _never_ to have in his life.

He swept his thoughts away as Sam’s hands moved over his chest, thumbnails catching his nipples. Dean’s body jerked and he pulled off Sam’s cock slight and was rewarded with a desperate groan from Sam.

Dean was done with waiting. He sank back down, feeling the heat of Sam’s balls under his ass. The ache of stretching around Sam’s girth had sparked a fire in him. His blood was roaring through his veins, heart tripping over itself to beat faster.

Dean’s hands gripped Sam’s where they had returned to his hips. Eyes locked together, their hips began to rock together in a slow, tantalizing rhythm. They fell into it naturally, responding to each other’s movements, the push and pull of their grips on each others’ bodies.

Pleasure was sliding through every part of Dean’s body. He couldn’t look away from Sam’s eyes. They were almost black, and they were devouring every inch of Dean’s body. It made Dean arch his back more, bite his lips, rock his hips faster and harder.

Sam’s nails cut into the flesh of Dean’s ass. He manhandled Dean closer, grinding their bodies together.

The breath raced out of Dean’s lungs as Sam’s cock shifted deep inside him. His vision faded away at the edges and he threw his head back. Pleasure shimmered to life in his eyes and he trembled as Sam bucked up to thrust his cock deeper.

Dean fell forward again, his aching shaft caught between their bodies. He writhed against Sam’s body, sweat-sticky and weak. He only had to thrust his hips against Sam’s body a handful of times and he felt his orgasm burst through him.

As release and pleasure twisted together in his body, Dean moaned against Sam’s chest.

One of Sam’s hands slid into Dean’s hair and held on tightly. His hips snapped up off the bed, his cock slid _deep_ into Dean and Sam’s entire body went rigid.

Crying out as he came, Sam began to tremble. His body jerked as his cock pulsed, his nails dragged along Dean’s thigh.

All the energy had drained out of Dean’s body. He laid there, poured over Sam’s body as though he’d always belonged there. It was almost impossible to think about moving.

It was the sweat cooling across his upper back that eventually persuaded Dean to move. He could feel the sting of pain beginning to prickle across his back and winced as he sat up.

“Are you alright?” Sam’s bleary-eyed gaze focused on Dean immediately and his brow furrowed.

Nodding, Dean eased himself off Sam’s cock and slid down onto his side. He took a deep breath and slid his palms across Sam’s broad chest.

“We should clean up,” Sam murmured.

“No,” Dean groaned. “Give me some time to enjoy this.” He didn’t _ever_ want to move, he wasn’t even sure that he could.

Sam’s body shook slightly as he chuckled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t promise that,” Dean said. It wouldn’t normally have slipped past his lips. It was too close to an admission of weakness.

Sam turned and pressed his lips to Dean’s forehead. “Yes, I can.”

The protest that rose in Dean’s throat was automatic. But, he bit down on it, smiled and pressed a little closer to Sam.

-=-=-=-

“He really is beautiful,” Sam said as he pressed up against Dean’s back. He slid one arm around Dean so he could rest his palm over the steady beat of Dean’s heart.

The foal standing in the paddock in front of them sniffed some grass then hopped back clumsily.

“He’s a handsome little guy.”

He might be a man of few words, but Dean hadn’t been able to hide the fact that he was happy ever since Onyx’s foal had been born.

The foal was grey, a mixture of the colors of his parents. He was already strong, and more than a little stubborn.

“I’ve been thinking about a name for him,” Sam said. He’d known as soon as he’d seen the colt what they should name him, he’d just been waiting for the right moment.

“And?” Dean reached up and curled his fingers over Sam’s wrist.

“Storm, because if there hadn’t been a storm-”

“-Yeah,” Dean interrupted. “I like it, Sam.”

Resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder, Sam smiled. “Dad said he’d be here tomorrow.”

Dean nodded, thumb moving over Sam’s pulse point.

“I told him you said you could wipe the floor with him in a chess game so he’s bringing a board.”

“You what?” Dean pulled out of Sam’s embrace so he could turn and glare. “Are you _trying_ to get me in trouble?”

Beginning to pace backward, Sam grinned. “Maybe. He likes you _far_ too much. I need to make sure _I’m_ the perfect one. Oh, I also told him you disagreed with how best to break a horse.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Still grinning, Sam spun on his heel and broke into a run. He didn’t run fast enough to evade capture. After all, being caught was the point.

“Sam!!”

-=-=-=- the end -=-=-=-


End file.
